


Violent Truths of Wounded Beings

by levitatethis



Category: Heroes - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Angst, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-05-17
Updated: 2010-05-17
Packaged: 2017-10-09 12:43:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,738
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/87626
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/levitatethis/pseuds/levitatethis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mohinder's downward spiral after shooting Bennet and Sylar's expectations during his road trip to New York.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Violent Truths of Wounded Beings

_Why does my heart feel so bad?  
Why does my soul feel so bad?  
These open doors_  
**-Moby, _Why Do I Feel So Bad?_**_  
_  
There are days when Mohinder hates himself more than others. They are the days he questions his very existence, the point of his purpose in the world. Those are the days when there are no answers or at least none worth their weight.

He thinks to himself about all the times he has pulled a gun on someone since coming to the United States. It bothers him more than he cares to admit out loud that there even exists a tally for the number of times he has pulled the trigger. Mohinder wonders if a part of him had hoped that _that_ bullet would have frozen in mid air, as had happened once before, thereby telling himself that it was okay to shoot since no harm would be done.

But the bullet did not stop mid air. It entered Noah Bennet’s head, penetrating his left eye.

Disgust and regret still cloak Mohinder’s body. Bennet being alive did not wipe out what Mohinder had done with purpose and intent. It is a truth he bears as a scarlet letter.

The fact is that when Mohinder shot Bennet he did not know if Claire’s blood would bring him back from the dead. He took the risk anyway, for the greater good that he is finding harder to believe in no matter how often he repeats the mantra. Fortunately Bennet was resurrected; not that Bennet saw it that way. Hurling words like traitor and betrayal at first, Bennet made his opinion known definitively. The words are not empty. Despite appearances to the contrary each one tears through Mohinder.

Each morning he wakes up to the thought that today will be the day Claire Bennet hunts him down to avenge her father. He thinks it ironic that it was a similar quest that led him where he is right now. The fatalistic side of him expects her each morning, prepares for her with final words and a plea for understanding, possibly forgiveness. Each night lying in bed is another chance to make amends but the cost is living with what he has done.

Mohinder feels a nonsensical nostalgia for when Sylar was his greatest worry. It was not that things were black and white but the edges were slightly more defined than they are now. It was a more tangible conflict.

The bubble he finds himself in now is all abstract ideas and fuzzy interpretations. Meanings are ever changing. People are as trustworthy as images in funhouse mirrors, one percent truth and ninety-nine percent exaggerations of falsehoods.

Mohinder is lost in a maze that insists on moving its walls and adjusting its layout. This does not stop him from trying to escape, but the burden of what his life has become increases exponentially each day. At times he likens himself to a hamster on a wheel. Running hard, moving fast and going absolutely nowhere.

He tries to remember the moment he signed up for this. The second his life took that relatively simple, but in retrospect drastic turn. He can never pinpoint it; it does not exist. There is no one moment, rather a culmination of many that has delivered him to the here and now.

Standing in front of his bathroom mirror Mohinder stares down the stranger in front of him. He glimpses smatterings of the man who traveled halfway around the world not so long ago, in a crinkle here and a line there. But altogether the face looking back seems like no more than a rough composite of a man who is not there.

Mohinder has thought about getting on a plane back to India, leaving this life behind while returning to the relative safety of a past he once found mundane. He tries to convince himself it is not the same as running away but in the same breath he knows he is not fooling anyone.

He is uncertain about how to physically pick himself up and the absolution he seeks is not from Bennet or Claire or Sandra, it is not from Matt or Molly; the absolution his soul so desperately yearns for is from himself. It is an absolution he knows he will never grant.

Mohinder wonders if being a murderer once is enough to make him a murderer for life. As displaced as he currently feels he also finds himself deliberating over the revolting possibility of pulling the trigger again. Would it seem normal? Would he not hesitate? The very thought of such an act becoming a natural extension of his being terrifies him. He ruminates on the idea that it may have begun the same way with Bennet and Sylar.

Sylar. Gabriel Gray.

The name he cannot escape no matter how hard he tries. The monster he despises now laughing at him from the grave. Gabriel stepped with purpose and became Sylar. Mohinder worries who his own creation may be.

Dragging himself to the apartment window he looks longingly at the world outside. His eyes move along the countless people walking by, rushing on with their brilliantly simple lives. In the hint of his reflection a faint glimpse of Sylar appears, smirking, reminding him that he will never belong to that distant world again.

_Once upon a time_, Mohinder thinks, _in a land far away, there lived a young man who believed he would change the world for the better; do good._

_What he did not know was that monsters walked about, lurking in corners while managing to appear invisible in the great wide open. Despite not working together, these monsters set traps to capture the young man._

_He tried his hardest to escape their grasping clutches. Some got closer than others and each close call left a mark on the man until all he had was permanent scars tattooed all over his body, penetrating through tissue to his soul._

_Piece by piece, inch by inch, the monsters turned him until he could no longer distinguish where he ended and they began.  
_  
Mohinder had not even meant to shoot Bennet in the head, the eye no less. In the split second that Mohinder raised his gun and fired precise aim was the last thing on his mind. He remembers thinking that Bennet needed to be incapacitated. Everything had gone in slow motion and super speed all at once. By the time the shot had split the air it was too late to take it all back.

Bennet’s head, followed by his body, had jerked back, a spray of blood decorating the air. All Mohinder could do was watch. All Mohinder could do was look with confusion at the falling body just beyond the hazy image of the smoking gun in his hand. He did not feel the weight of the metal contraption and his ears rung from the sound of the shot. Mohinder was in his body but not part of it; it felt like it was moving of its own accord.

Not that any of that mattered now.

Sitting down at the kitchen table, with his head in his hands, Mohinder thinks about the prophecy he and Bennet fulfilled. From paintings to reality, life had imitated art.

Philosophical contemplations overwhelm his mind. He wonders if it is possible for one person’s essence to flow through the veins of another. He does not understand it but he finds himself feeling Sylar’s presence more clearly, although he no longer dismisses the possibility that it was always there in some form.

He is thankful that Sylar is no longer around to see him like this. If he were here Sylar would not hesitate to do a number on Mohinder.

On second thought, at this point Mohinder feels that is the least he deserves.

  
********** ********** ********** ********** **********

  
_Rejected…since day one  
My name is...bastard son  
I’ve been damned …so many times I’ve lost count  
Blue collar…working man  
Devises…master plan  
Bi-polar…with a mental side arm_

_I’m sick and I’m twisted  
I’m broken you can’t fix it  
Don’t make me, cause I’ll do it  
Red button and we’ll all go_   
**-Billy Talent, _River Below_**

On a flattened map of the world, or spinning globe, the geographical stretch from anywhere in Mexico to New York City is obvious. However it is not until that journey is undertaken by car that one truly realizes how great the distance is.

On a map Sylar can travel the space in four fingertips and a thumbprint, cutting across water, forests and mountain ranges.

If only it were so easy.

With each passing hour his anticipation grows. It is a chore to keep it under wraps from Maya who watches him closely. He willingly puts up with conversations that keep her content and forgetful of Alejandro who she thinks has returned to the Dominican Republic but whom Sylar knows lies dead and decaying on the floor of a motel room.

Sylar amuses himself with how easy it was to drive a wedge between the siblings. Blood should be thicker than water he thinks, yet there is probably more loyalty between him and Mohinder than these two, even if Mohinder would not see it that way.

The conversations with Maya have grown sparse the closer they get to New York. Sylar accepts the blame for that. His mind keeps wandering as it ponders all the different ways his meeting with Mohinder could go.

Like trying to sort out the specific scene directions of a play, Sylar gives great thought to the impending reunion. Leaning his head against the passenger window he pretends to gaze lovingly at Maya, letting his left hand caress the side of her face while she drives. He catches her curious gaze and smile as he laughs to himself over the best opening line to use on Mohinder. He quickly drops his hand from her face so that he can continue his cerebral retreat with no further distractions.

There is always the tried and true, “Hello Mohinder,” which is a personal favourite. It is simple yet Sylar can picture a reaction so complex that an outsider may think the words had a subliminal meaning. _Maybe they do_, Sylar wonders. He thinks about saying, “Hello Dr. Suresh. I don’t believe you were expecting me,” as a tease. Sylar thinks it may be too much at first but then he realizes he does not care. What matters is getting a reaction from Mohinder and his return from the dead will be shock enough.

Sylar hears variations of “You’re dead,” spoken with a captivating English accent. The following scene that unfolds involves blood drawing punches, the shouting of definitive threats, overturned furniture, broken glass (_broken bones even_), tears, pain (_so much pain_) and undeniable emotions. _Undeniable_.

Mohinder may even pull that gun out again. Freezing that bullet not even a foot from his face is still one of Sylar’s favourite moments. Sometimes he replays it over in his mind; more often than not he relives the entire day over. Yes, Mohinder may pull that gun out again, but whether he would fire it is less a certainty. With much thought Sylar decides no; _Mohinder is not that type of guy_, particularly if Sylar plays his cards right.

It is something about Mohinder that he admires while being simultaneously frustrated. Caught between “Just shoot the damn gun!”, “Save me,” and “My god, you really don’t want to do this?” those thoughts ran parallel through Sylar’s mind the last time they faced off. It is that painfully real humanity that only Mohinder can offer him. And Mohinder is the only one he is willing to accept it from.

In all of the scenerios that play out unfiltered in his mind they all end with Sylar exiting the apartment in dramatic fashion, leaving Mohinder a mess on the floor. Mohinder’s death never crosses his mind. It is not that the possibility does not exist, after all what would they be without death in the balance? The reality is that Mohinder’s death is simply not an option.

Sylar thinks this is what it must be like to value someone, to believe in them in some way. As someone who has murdered without remorse he finds the desire to keep someone alive means something he is not completely sure of.

He will get Mohinder to help him no matter what. If force is needed at first, so be it. Sylar smirks, drawing a quick glance from Maya in the driver’s seat that Mohinder tends to need his hand pushed, but once in play it is anyone’s game. Sylar will just have to tread carefully.

The first significant move is making initial contact without Maya getting in the way. Sylar worries that if Maya is with him the first time around it may be a hindrance to his own plans. After all, if Mohinder makes the same impression on Maya as he made on Sylar all that time ago she will immediately gravitate towards him. Sylar cannot risk that. He contemplates finding a way to convince her to split from him briefly in New York. He figures it should not be so hard since she has been so anxious to please so far. What matters is getting fixed first.

Sylar’s mind drifts to when he will get his abilities back. Just the thought of all that incredible power flowing through him makes his heart race and stomach flip flop with excitement.

He has his own list of people to track down; those who tried to tear him down, all coming together that night at Kirby Plaza. Bennet will deserve another visit as well as that woman who tried to take him out with a parking meter. With New York still around Peter Petrelli obviously did not explode in the city. Sylar would love a rematch if Petrelli still breathes. His curiousity asks if Petrelli has lost his powers as well. Sylar tries not to give much thought to that as it will only cause him to lose his temper, something he cannot have happen right now with Maya.

He prefers to think about whom he would really love to pay a surprise visit to; the traveling man who plunged the sword through his body. Sylar feels that payback is well deserved in that case and he looks forward to delivering that punishment loud and clear.

If he and Mohinder can get down to serious work together then Sylar feels it should not be long until he is functioning at his full potential again. At least that is what Sylar tells himself. He has to. If he allows doubt to creep in he will be struck down by his own fallibility.

Weakness is unacceptable.

“Gabriel! New York!” Maya’s joy filled voice explodes through the silence in the car and rips Sylar out of his methodical thoughts.

His eyes go forward as the city rises up from the horizon.

Finally. It is time.

For days he has given nearly endless thought to this. It is time to rise up and show the world that it cannot get rid of Sylar so easily. They are going to have to try a lot harder and now that he has seen the playbook he does not plan to take anything for granted.

His eyes light up with the thought of the first stop.

 

***********  **********  **********  **********  **********

 

_“Maybe all one can do is hope to end up with the right regrets.” _   
**-Arthur Miller**

“Welcome home, Dr. Suresh.”

If it is possible to be all things at once Mohinder is shocked, sickened, pissed off, frustrated; he wants to shout, cry, throw up, give up, fight; he wants to break Sylar’s face, snap his neck once and for all, put a bullet through his precious brain; he wants to run back home to India or pull the trigger against his own head.

If it is possible to be all things at once Mohinder is a volcanic implosion of rational thought and irrational expectations. This is his rock bottom at what he thought was a bottomless pit. He should have known that Sylar would be there to greet him.

Despite believing in what he is doing; or desperately _wanting _to believe in it, seeing Sylar in the flesh is still a shock to his system. Mohinder had hoped this was behind him, until _that _phone call.

_“Hello Mohinder.”_

The words had brought down what was left of Mohinder’s world. If he was lost before, now he finds himself tumbling blindly in a void. The unimaginable truth is that he as absolutely no idea what to do except play it by ear.

Sylar, having spun around in the chair like a comic book villain to welcome the visibly bewildered and possibly shaken geneticist as he raced through the front door, stands up as it to make their reintroduction more formal. The occasion, he believes, is worthy of such a gesture.

Mohinder’s questioning eyes meet Sylar’s in a tension filled stare down that is only broken by the sudden shifting of feet off to the side. Mohinder looks over to his right as Sylar rolls his eyes in annoyance.

Maya, a faltering smile on her face, takes tentative steps towards the obviously irritated man who has just entered the apartment.

“Stop,” Mohinder’s voice orders her, his right arm raised up with the palm of his hand facing her.

Immediately Maya freezes, throwing her uncertain eyes to Sylar.

Sylar had tried to put a plan in place to ensure this would not happen but Maya’s unexpected resistance to their separation had forced him into an unwanted Plan B.

Sylar begins to speak, “Mohinder, this is--,”  
“Where’s Molly?” Mohinder cuts him off.

“All in good time. First things--,” Sylar says as he tries to take control of the situation.

“Save the witty banter for someone who cares Sylar,” Mohinder snaps. “Until I know that Molly is safe I have absolutely no interest in what you have to say.”

The calm seriousness in Mohinder’s voice catches Sylar off guard. Watching Mohinder’s impassive stance Sylar notices the small white bandage across the bridge of his nose for the first time. He knows that something is off and it is more than his sudden reappearance in Mohinder’s life. He surmises that another change in plans will be necessary.

Sylar looks back towards Maya, who has a befuddled look on her face from hearing the name Sylar, and then back to Mohinder.

“She’s in the bedroom.”

Mohinder walks past Maya, a quick glance at her when he passes, to his bedroom. Molly is fast asleep, unaware of the potentially dangerous situation unfolding around her. A small part of him is envious of her. He is tempted to wake her and whisk her away as fast as he possibly can, but with the murderer of her parents in the next room and his own uncertainty as to why Mohinder instead places a comforting kiss on Molly’s forehead. She stirs gently but remains asleep.

Turning around to head back into the living room Mohinder finds Maya watching him. He walks towards her sensing she is completely unaware of what is happening in the apartment. Before he can speak to her however Sylar’s voice calls out.

“Maya.”

Both Mohinder and Maya turn towards him.

“Stay with Molly. Mohinder and I need to talk first,” Sylar finishes.

Maya starts to say something but the look in Sylar’s eyes snaps her mouth shut. With a hesitating glance at Mohinder she walks into the bedroom and closes the door behind her.

The sound of the door clicking shut punctuates the silence that surrounds Sylar and Mohinder, both refusing to be the first to break eye contact. A silent battle of wills, the face off is understood by both to be another one of their turning points; an inevitable showdown that will become one of their defining footnotes.

Their eyes never drifting from each other, Sylar watches Mohinder carefully work his way from the bedroom door across the living room towards the kitchen. Once there Mohinder leans against the cabinet, arms folded across his chest, the annoyed look on his face now tinged with curiousity.

“Why are you here?” he asks firmly.

“Can’t I visit an old friend?” Sylar asks with an arrogant smile on his face. “Admit it, you missed me.”

“Cut the bullshit,” Mohinder warns. “Either tell me why you’re here or--,”

“I don’t think you understand the enormity of this situation, Mohinder,” Sylar interrupts coolly. “I can call Maya back in here at any time and leave you with regrets you can’t even begin to imagine.”

Mohinder, attempting to remain cool in appearance despite the increasing sense of panic rising through his body, says, “That still doesn’t answer my--,”

Sylar can almost see the cogs turning in Mohinder’s mind.

“You don’t normally travel with an entourage,” Mohinder contemplatively points out. “The only reason Maya is here is because you can’t take what you want.”

Sylar’s eyes burn across the room. He walks towards Mohinder until he is only a few feet away. Their conversation continues in hushed tones.

“You’re going to find out what’s wrong with me and you’re going to fix it,” Sylar states. He glances towards the pile of notes and the laptop on Mohinder’s desk. “If I have this…virus…you can save me and give me my powers back.”

Mohinder’s eyes taunt him.

“First, no. I will not help you. Second…there is more than one strain of the virus. If you have the mutated one then my antibodies won’t work and you’re out of luck.”

Sylar is caught off guard by the admission of a different, potentially incurable, virus strain. Mohinder does not share the discovery that his antibodies mixed with Claire Bennet’s will combat the new strain. He chooses to keep that piece of information close to his chest, at least for now.

Sylar finds himself at a surprising loss for words. His eyes search Mohinder’s for something, anything to cling to that will help him make sense of the unwanted existence he finds himself stuck in. But all he sees staring back at him is steely resolve.

Sylar knows he should not care about Mohinder’s callousness. The last time they had been together destruction had reigned down. But even then there was no hint of the coldness that now strikes at Sylar from the unmovable man across from him. Mohinder is altered and yet Sylar still feels that fragile thread that binds them together.

Standing so close to Mohinder, Sylar finds it difficult to not show the desperation boiling beneath the surface of his skin, trying to claw its way out; reaching for the help that only Mohinder can provide. Sylar finds it torturous to not unburden himself by revealing everything that has happened to him since waking up on that fake beach.

Being in this apartment in such close proximity to the only person he has ever considered a friend, as technically false as it may have been (_but who cares for technicalities when the feelings are real enough_?), Sylar finds it easy to forget Maya and Molly in the next room.

The problem is stopping himself from _needing_ Mohinder to hear his urgent cries for help; and not cries of a pathetic helpless sort but ones of an angry confused nature.

There should be no issue for Sylar in using physical threats against Mohinder to get what he wants, to keep him in line, to break down his will. Sylar could wrap both hands around Mohinder’s neck and squeeze his life out bit by bit until he gives up.

Instead Sylar raises his right arm and with his hand takes a hold of Mohinder’s chin. He sees the surprise in Mohinder’s eyes at the gentle physical contact. Sylar turns Mohinder’s face right then left, his eyes examining the healing nose and purple bruising.

“Who did this to you?” Sylar asks curiously.

Instinctively Mohinder smacks Sylar’s hand away while angrily saying, “Don’t touch me!”

With only a moments hesitation Sylar brings his right hand back up to Mohinder’s face and repeats the question. This time when Mohinder tries to push him away Sylar catches his arm with his left hand and firmly holds Mohinder in place.

Glaring at Sylar, Mohinder uses his free left hand to try to pry Sylar’s hand from his face. A struggle ensues between them as Mohinder attempts to push Sylar away and Sylar refuses to let go. Back and forth, the dance they perform is familiar; they hate it and ache for it in the same breath. Backed into a kitchen chair, pushed into a cabinet, they bruise each other with purpose.

“Gabriel?”

Maya’s scared voice cuts in causing both men to let go of each other.

Unmasked anger in his eyes and voice, Sylar looks at Maya and booms, “Get back in the room!”

Mohinder notices Maya’s startled reaction to the order. Her eyes meet his and as calmly as he can he tells her, “It’s okay. Go back to Molly. Don’t come out of the room.”

As Maya nods at Mohinder before heading back into the bedroom Sylar recognizes the look in her eyes. She is already rethinking her decision. She is doing what he did. She is starting to choose Mohinder.

In the second that the bedroom door is closed and Sylar turns back towards Mohinder he only catches the blur pummeling at him, bent over, before he feels Mohinder slam head first into his stomach; his arms grabbing Sylar around the waist while forcing both of them into and over the kitchen table.

Crashing to the floor Sylar feels the air knocked out of him, Mohinder feels a shooting pain from the bruises on his face being pressed against Sylar’s body. The attack is by no means a tactical move on Mohinder’s part. Rather it is a last ditch effort by a man suddenly aware of his own frail mortality.

Mohinder will never be rid of Sylar, this much he knows. They will forever exist in either the shadows or unobstructed openness of one another’s spheres. The thought is at once terrifying and comforting for Mohinder. In this moment he feels himself slipping below the water’s surface. He tells himself that at the very least he owes himself the fight and with Sylar powerless this may be the closest he will get to a level playing field.

With the surprise move Mohinder has the initial advantage of being on top. Partially sitting up he strikes three blows to Sylar’s face and takes a distinct pleasure in the sight of blood that begins to pour from the newly inflicted split of skin above the left eye.

Sylar’s arms go up to stop the onslaught while keeping a tight grip of Mohinder. With the space between them, Sylar manages to flip their positions, forcibly slamming Mohinder to the floor.

As Mohinder tries to scramble back into a fighting stance, Sylar manages to get into a kneeling position. He places both his hands on either side of Mohinder’s head and in one swift move slams their heads together.

The shock of the blow sends Mohinder reeling backwards, his head pounds against the floor. Even in his dazed state Mohinder can feel Sylar’s hands on his body, at his waist. Just as quickly they stop. Inside Mohinder a groan of defeat barely makes it past his lips. Feeling Sylar’s weight lift from his body Mohinder cracks open his eyes.

Sylar is standing above him pointing the gun he has found in the waist of Mohinder’s jeans at Mohinder’s head.

Mohinder almost laughs at the unsurprising turn of events. No matter how often he tries to do the right thing life finds a way to bring him to his knees. The momentary revelation would be enlightening if not for the murderer staring him down or the throbbing pain reverberating in his skull.

“You should have pulled this first,” Sylar chastises him in a maliciously teasing tone. “You’ve gotten reckless, Mohinder, especially with a child in the other room.”

Mohinder pulls himself up to his knees, still on the floor, and casts his eyes downwards. He feels sick at the thought that he had momentarily forgotten about Molly and put her at greater risk. An overwhelming wave of disgust closes in on him telling him he deserves any and all punishment that Sylar seeks fit to inflict on him.

“Get up,” Sylar orders.

Mohinder does not move.

“Get up!” Sylar orders again but Mohinder remains still, kneeling on the floor, eyes not leaving the ground.

_Just kill me,_ Mohinder thinks.  
_Get up and fight,_ Sylar’s mind screams.

“Look at me,” Sylar attempts to change tactics.

Mohinder refuses to bring his gaze to Sylar. If he does he fears Sylar will be able to rip into his mind and body and see the revulsion of what pulses deep down inside. Laid out, splayed open, Sylar would see the patchwork man Mohinder has become; scraps of courage, compassion and intellect brutally attached to fear, thoughtlessness and total vulnerability.

Mohinder knows that if he looks at Sylar he will want to tell him every idea, worry and circumstance that has turned him into this. He will recklessly reach out to Sylar and risk being heartlessly rebuffed, laughed at, and ridiculed. He will be destroyed.

Mohinder cannot look at Sylar. His last shred of self-preservation will not let him.

Sylar’s savage eyes lose their fierceness as they take in the sight of the kneeling man in front of him, head bowed, shoulders hung low with an invisible weight crushing down. He sees a stranger inhabiting a friend’s body.

That Mohinder would even risk an attack with Molly in the next room is unconscionable. This is not the same man Sylar once knew. Curiousity gives way to anger.

“Who did this to you?” Sylar spits out getting no response.

Sylar does not know to which _who_ he is referring, but he is beginning to wonder if it is connected to those who dismantled him power by power.

He lowers his left arm, with the gun, to his side. Using his right hand he wipes away the blood spilling down his face, wiping the excess blood on his pants. Looking around he goes to put the gun down on the kitchen counter before turning back to Mohinder.

The only sound is their laboured breathing.

Sylar cautiously approaches Mohinder. Standing in front of him he slowly places a guarded left hand compassionately on top of Mohinder’s bowed head.

Both feel the burst of electricity that shoots between them.

Mohinder cannot stop the tears that spring to his eyes and spill down his cheeks. The quiet but undeniable sobs that escape his throat strike Sylar at his core.

What has happened here to them is unacceptable Sylar thinks. This is not how their story goes and it sure as hell does not end this way.

Sylar removes his hand from Mohinder’s head. He places his hands on Mohinder’s shoulders and pulls him up to his feet. Mohinder finally raises his head and looks at Sylar.

Glistening eyes meet cunning ones.

“We’re going to take back what they took,” Sylar discloses, his hands still gripping Mohinder’s shoulders.

A quizzical look emerges on Mohinder’s face and Sylar continues, “from both of us.”

Mohinder says nothing, but not because he does not fathom what Sylar is professing. Mohinder understands very clearly and his mind is already skipping ahead while playing out a medley of scenerios.

“You trust me,” Sylar states.

“What?” Mohinder asks in surprise before continuing, “How could I possibly trust you?”

Sylar waits a few moments, letting his eyes linger with Mohinder’s, before speaking again.

“You know exactly what I want. You know without a doubt what I will do to get it.”

With certainty Mohinder answers, “Yes; of course.”

“Then I’m the most trustworthy person you know,” Sylar points out.

Mohinder’s silence is an admission of recognition.

“You trust me,” Sylar says again, but now there is the inflection of a question in his tone. He drops his hands from Mohinder’s shoulders and takes a small step back.

In the seconds that follow a hint of uncertainty gnaws at Sylar. He knows very well that Mohinder could turn away, chalk this night up to one of those moments of madness that they seem to fall into with each other. He does not know how to reveal himself more clearly or genuinely to Mohinder. If Mohinder refuses this gesture then this night becomes nothing more than a distant memory. Mohinder will stumble on with caring hands reaching out to him while Sylar knows he will continue on, a solitary figure, always just outside of where he wants to be most.

As the uncertainty begins to grow Sylar sees it –

A slight nod of Mohinder’s head, and a quiet yet firm, “Yes,” from his lips.

A smile forms on Sylar’s face while Mohinder remains mostly expressionless.

“To new beginnings,” Sylar says assuredly reaching up with his right hand to squeeze Mohinder’s shoulder.

A few seconds pass before Mohinder, whose face has remained apprehensive bordering on expressionless, says, “We’ll get started tomorrow. I need to check on Molly.”

Mohinder steps away from Sylar and walks towards the closed bedroom door. He has no idea how to explain any of this to Molly and he doubts that Sylar has given much, if any, thought to how Maya fits in. Yet with all these unknown elements the truth is that he does know Sylar, and Sylar knows him. It is the unexpected outcome of what once seemed like two very different, divergent even, lives.

Mohinder can feel Sylar’s eyes watching his back. This is a hand he has not played yet, potentially teaming up with a man he considers his enemy (_his friend_?). All things considered, there is just as much chance that _this_ may work as anything else he has done. The only thing that Mohinder is willing to offer is a promise _for now_.

He stops and turns to look at Sylar, who now has an unsettled look on his face. Their eyes take the other in, contemplating; reasoning, compromising.

“Tomorrow,” Mohinder says again, this time with more conviction.

A small smile twitches across Sylar’s lips.

“Tomorrow,” Sylar voice says in agreement, the hint of relief barely concealed in his voice.

**Author's Note:**

> **Nominated for Best Mohinder Characterization**


End file.
